


The End Has No End.

by Larry_say_relax



Category: The Strokes
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larry_say_relax/pseuds/Larry_say_relax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian's drinking is out of control and all he wants (besides another drink) is Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End Has No End.

My phone’s ringing. Again. I know because it lights up when it rings. I turned the ringer off, but it still flashes cobalt. You can tell I’ve been talking to Fab a lot when I say things like ‘cobalt’. Before I met Fab, blue was blue. Well okay. Not blue. Blue was never blue once I met Nick. His eyes are cobalt when he’s really happy or really high or really turned on or all of the above. Anyway. Phone. Been ringing all night.

I drank too much again. That’s why I turned the phone off. There’s only so many times I can hear “Julian, you drink too much” and “Julian, we’re worried about you” and “Julian, smoke a joint with me instead” and the thing is when they call me Julian and not Jules I know I’m in trouble. Not fight-trouble but they’re-worried-trouble and the last thing I want is to do is sit through an intervention, because the last one was beyond fucking awful.

That was pretty much the only time I ever saw Nick look really scared. I mean like his knees were shaking-scared. He didn’t say anything, just looked at the floor the whole time and kept his legs pressed together and bounced them while Fab and Albert talked and Nikolai sat all close to me. I was so fuckin’ pissed at the time that I told myself it was in case I made a break for it but deep down I knew that wasn’t why.

Nick didn’t make eye contact with me even once. And he actually flinched when I snapped that he snorted enough shit up his nose to power MTA for months on end on any given weekend. And Albert asked Nick then if he was high and Nick said no and then Albert looked at me and said, “It’s noon Jules, have you had a drink today?” and I just…that really hurt, because I knew he was right. I was out of control. And the worst part was that I didn’t care. Only then I did because Fab looked really sad and Nick with his big scared eyes and Nikolai didn’t say anything at all to me and that was just a really bad day.

All I could think of was how much I wanted them to leave so I could have another drink and when they finally did, I did. In fact I had a lot more drinks. A few hours later Nick came back, probably because I called him. I don’t remember doing it but he said I did when he showed up. I remember answering the door all confused, wondering who it was and then I somehow got the locks undone and he was just standing there with this really worried look on his face and I was really happy to see him right then so I hugged him and lost my balance and almost pulled us both over.

He caught us though and I hugged him hard as hell and I just didn’t want to let go, you know? And it felt really good when he hugged me back. It was nice when we sat together on the couch. He sat right next to me and we watched TV but I don’t think either of us was really paying attention to it. I know I wasn’t. I was looking at the hole in his jeans, in the knee, and at the skin I could see through it and finally I reached and brushed my fingertips there because sometimes you want to touch something beautiful and if Nick is anything, he’s beautiful.

One time we were really wasted and he kicked a hole in my wall when I told him that. He got really pissed and said he was tired of people judging him by his outside. I just looked at him because that was so totally stupid. I didn’t even tell him how retarded it was for him to say that to me. If I’d been a different kind of drunk I would’ve gotten mad and we probably would have had a fight, because sometimes it takes next to nothing to set me off. But that time I wasn’t feeling that way, I was feeling really happy that night because Nick and I don’t get a lot of time together anymore where it’s just the two of us. That’s my fault and I know it but sometimes you need to take the proper precautions to keep yourself from slipping up and letting someone know when you maybe feel a little bit too strongly for them.

But yeah. He doesn’t like it when you tell him things like that. He acts like he does but that’s because he doesn’t want anyone to know his big secret. He never told me but I know anyway, because I know him and I know how his mind works. Nick thinks that being pretty is his big gift. He knows he can play guitar and he knows he’s got a good sense of humor but deep down he’s afraid that the only thing he really has to offer is how he looks. Pretty plastic Nick Valensi, The Strokes’ supermodel pretty boy. He knows people see his cheekbones before they hear his playing and that really gets to him for some reason.

What kills me about Nick is how he never regrets anything he does. Not that he should. I just mean he isn’t indecisive and he doesn’t suffer or torture himself over details and past events. He sleeps with whoever he wants to sleep with and he drinks to get drunk. He lights a joint and makes happy love with that fucking guitar, the love of his life, and he makes something beautiful and incomparable out of nothing and that makes him happy. I wish I was more like he is.

It’s not that he doesn’t think about things although a lot of people get that impression. Mainly, I’d say to prove something like that you need a reference point. There are a shitload of people on the Lower East Side who’ll tell you that they wouldn’t piss on Nick Valensi if he was on fire, that he’s an asshole who doesn’t think about other people or have a heart or whatever but that’s because they don’t know him. For instance, they weren’t with us that time when we were walking home from a party and it was so fucking cold that the inside of my nose was frozen solid. We both woke up on the couch at like six in the morning and I remember thinking that it couldn’t possibly be any colder outside than it was in that apartment but I was wrong.

It was so cold that every time I inhaled my lungs felt seared and the muscles in my stomach hurt from being all clenched up. We both had our hands shoved in our pockets and I was thinking maybe we should stop and get something hot to drink but I wanted to get into a bed because I felt like shit, both from the hangover and from sleeping sitting up on that ratty couch. I glanced over and him and I could tell he was freezing-he has no fat on his body at all and he was kind of hunched over. I felt bad for him and I remember thinking that yeah, coffee might be a good idea.

So we were walking kind of fast and not really saying much and then he just stopped. He was looking down and I followed his gaze and there was this little pile of fur there on the sidewalk next to a trash can. It took me a second to recognize that it was a kitten. It was one of those grey ones with black stripes and I guess it had gotten out and frozen during the night. Nick bent down and picked it up and I thought he was just gonna throw it in the trash but he didn’t, he just stood there and started breathing on it like he was trying to warm it up.

I kind of laughed and I was like, “Nick, dude, what the fuck?” and he looked up and me and his eyes were just really sad and I shit you not, it looked like he was gonna start to cry. And he was like, “Shut up, Julian! Just shut the fuck UP for once!” Uh oh. Julian. Never good.

So we stood there while he breathed on it and cupped it in his hands for what felt like an hour though it was probably like two minutes and I remember thinking that this kid grew up in New York City where people step over homeless people on a daily basis and get fucked off if the person getting mugged beside them interrupts a cell phone conversation and he was about to start bawling because he found a dead fucking cat on the sidewalk, and I wished I was more like him because I didn’t give a fuck. I wondered if maybe I should and that really bothered me. It bothered me for a long fuckin’ time, you know?

Finally I touched his arm.

“Nick, it’s gone. Come on, put it down.”

He nodded but he didn’t look at me He just reached out and really gently put it in the trash on top of some burger wrappers and a folded up newspaper. I remember how skinny his wrist looked, how his hand was shaking a little bit. I told myself it was from the hangover and maybe it was. But I don’t think so. It started to snow when we were almost at his place. I thought about inviting myself in but to be honest I didn’t want to deal with him. He hadn’t said anything the rest of the way home so I pulled him into a hug then let him go and went back to my place.

So maybe he fucked some girls and didn’t call or didn’t feel like sharing his coke or told someone that their party sucked balls or whatever. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart. I already knew that but the thing with the kitten really got to me, right? And that’s kind of a reference point for me when I think he’s being really cold and that he doesn’t give a shit about anything, because you don’t see people do that shit everyday, you know?

I’ve smoked a pack of Marlboro Reds in two hours and I drank almost a fifth of bourbon and suddenly I really want that to be Nick who keeps calling. I’m afraid to check the caller id though because if it isn’t, well fuck. I don’t know. I just really really want it to be him. And if it’s him and I pick up, then what? Ask him to come over so I can tell him what’s been eating me alive these past few months? Because I know he’s dying to know. They all are. They want to help me, make me feel better but they can’t because they don’t know what’s wrong and I won’t tell them. I don’t even fucking know.

I know some of it-I know that the way I feel about Nick is making me fucking crazy and I know that I’m already tired of the way people have been treating us since the record came out. What kind of asshole complains about that? This is where I raise my hand and tell you that I miss my day job serving drinks and cleaning the toilets in the dive where I used to flirt with office managers with expensive manicures during the afternnon lunch rush for bigger tips and that it was more fun when I didn’t know if I was gonna get laid on any given night. That I miss the desperate itch to make something really fucking great and to have people want to know me because of it. That I miss being able to hang out with my friends without being interrupted every other second by people I don’t know who want to touch me and who keep telling me how alike we are.

I love a good pity party but only if it’s being thrown in my honor. But this is good, right? This is what people want, right? I get up and walk to the bathroom, holding onto the back of the couch, the wall, the doorframe, whatever I can reach so I don’t go down. The mirror over the sink shows me bloodshot eyes ringed with insomnia and too much booze. I look like shit. Good. I feel like shit, might as well look it, too. I stare at myself and I touch the crack in my bottom lip and I wonder why people want to sleep with me. And that’s when I hear the phone ring because I turned the ringer back on because I miss him and I don’t want to miss it if he calls.

Somehow I’m back on the couch and it’s his name there on the display and the phone is in my hand and it’s flashing cobalt, like his eyes, flashing with every ring and I hit the talk button and I hold the receiver up to my ear and I’m so glad it’s him that I forget to say hello. There’s nothing there. He’s not talking. I clear a pack of Marlboro Reds out of my throat and I guess he hears it because then he says my name. He says my whole name so I guess that means he’s worried and I don’t even care. I don’t hear words, just his voice and the relief floods me and then I speak.

Nick. Can you come over? I need you.

I know I’m slurring badly just as I know that his hanging up before answering the question means he’s on his way. I hang up the phone and I light a smoke and I hope that I don’t fall asleep or pass out before he gets here or tell him too much when he does. I can see the lights through my window from the street outside and I’m thinking about that fucking cat and the way his eyes looked and I know that he knows what it feels like when your heart hurts and that makes me feel a little bit better. I close my eyes, and I wait.


End file.
